


Breaking Beautifully

by AceFromOuterSpace



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Character Death, Disassociation, Grief/Mourning, Love, M/M, Pain, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceFromOuterSpace/pseuds/AceFromOuterSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Overwatch team suffers a devastating loss and is reminded that they are not immortal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Beautifully

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea of writing this after falling asleep while listening to Hurts like Hell by Fleurie on repeat. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUlX8ltm_JU
> 
> ^^^^^If ya want to give yourself heart pains go ahead and listen while reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoy~

The room was empty and pale like that of the man who stood in the center of it. The sun blaring in through the single pane of glass shining upon a bed that lacked the usual sheets and pillows.  
The drawers.  
The walls.  
The bed.

All completely barren as if it was never occupied in the first place. His hands clung tightly to his sides as his body began to tense up and release itself as he let go of the bonds that hid his emotions so tightly inside for the first time. He could careless about who saw him crying through the cracked door but this was more than crying, it was the kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a person drained of all hope. His grief was like the first stages of love: falling in love and being totally preoccupied by this uncharted territory, then becoming comfortable as he began to trust that love would always be with him. In grief, as when the once again somber man first fell in love, his heart longs to be with the person who’s now completely gone. The desire to touch the man he allowed himself to love is overwhelming. Most other parts of his life began to seem unimportant in comparison. He feels as if he's a traveler on a hijacked plane, or like he's in some foreign land where he does not know the language or the culture. He can feel the warm glow of life that is no longer pulsing through his body as it did when the cowboy smiled that weathered down smile that he had come to love so much. 

He sank to his knees at the empty room. His tears mingled with the sunlight and his gasping wails echoed through the halls and embedded themselves in the damp air. He had to believe that the man he had let so close to him was safe up there, comfortable and warm. To look down would be to imagine him cold in a box, bereft of the cuddles he often stole and tender bitter kisses. The emptiness that came to mind burned, doubling him over and racking his body with sobs. He cried until there was nothing left inside but a raw emptiness that nibbles at his insides like a hungry rat. His irises were threaded a wet hazel and his eyeballs hung heavy in their sockets. His whole body hung limp like each limb weighed twice as much as it had before and just moving it about was a slow, painful effort. The sun still shone in the sky, but not for him, the birds sung in bursts of melody, but not for him, for him there was no beauty left in the world. The only beauty he believed in now laid to rest, six feet underneath him.

The pain following this thought that flowed from him was as palpable as the frigid fall wind and soon the only person at his side was the muted golden medic, struggling to keep her own tears silent, looking up to the white studded roof and the possible heaven beyond it. She sits next to the weeping man, with the little strength she still has to move. Her shaky fingers finally come to stop after running restlessly through the mans messed up hair. She bites down on her lip trying with all her might not to burst into tears.

"I'm Sorry~~" 

Her words bleed emotions but do little for the grieving dragon. He does not dare to hear them.

"I'm So Sorry~~"

As much as she tried to hold it in, the pain came out like an uproar from her throat in the form of a silent scream. Then beads of water started falling down one after another, without a sign of stopping. Hanzo couldn't do it. Something in that mess of a man changed the growling archer and taught him of compassion. He wanted to watch her cry. He wanted to see her suffering as he was but he couldn't let her. McCree would never let her, nor would he let anyone on Overwatch. Gently, he removes the scarf from his dark flowing hair, letting it fall and rest just above his shoulders. His hair swayed as he wiped away the tears from the glossy eyed Angela. An uncharacteristically gloomy Tracer pushes the oakwood door open just enough so that they could hear the words that were soon to follow. 

"Winston is requesting all of us in the control room..." 

The unusual slowness of Tracer's words reminds him of the entire team that was grieving just as he is.  
Guilt washed Hanzo's face like sudden rainfall as he stood and regained his composure. He helped Angela stand as a small pair of tears raced down her face. Tracer walked with the two not once seeming to think about blinking her way in before everyone else. The pain they all felt was imminent as the darkness loomed over the struggling members. A large door is pushed open with a light hand from both Angela and Tracer and Winston greets the trio with a distressed sound rising from the scientist's throat. A round table sits in the center of the room with wooden chairs surrounding it.

_Almost everyone is here._

Hanzo stares at the empty chair across from him, fresh tears welling up within his hardened eyes. He was waiting for the man to burst through the doors as if they were simple saloon doors and he was the new star of some old western film. Every muscle in his face was tense and without a word he communicated intense sadness, anger, and grief. Winston speaks with a monotone voice at an attempt to hide the pain he was feeling for and with the team. For once, everyone was vulnerable at the exact same moment in time and space as if the planets had aligned for such a thing to happen. They are cold. So cold. The life that had dwelt within them had gone and they were no longer safe from the perils of this world. Harm could come to them now. Hearts that used to beat with love and hope are still. Minds that felt so many emotions are blank. Everyone broke at the idea that McCree was gone. 

Painful memories dance through Hanzo's speeding mind. They are sharp, and cut right through him everytime he thinks about the hours the two spent together. Even the sweet good moments the two had were now turned into a knife that stabs deep into Hanzo's already broken heart. McCree had pierced his soul like the arrows he was taught to wield; He made him less skeptical about people and love but at the same time he turned him into this broken mess, and even if he doesn't see him again, his touch will be with him for years, or maybe for the rest of the young Shimada's life, who knows. McCree brought back Hanzo's confidence, and he remembered every single word Hanzo said to him, treasuring them like expensive gifts even when they were meant to cause harm. Memories were the soul torturer of the dark dormant dragon. He couldn't escape them, or hide from them; they were the worst kind of monster. He was scared of what his past held, all the memories that seemed to never escape him. They were pin point needles, piercing the man's skin. He couldn't scream or fight back, he had to just endure the pain as the picture of his love's face flashed through his mind. He had experienced pain before when he believed he had taken his own brother's life. But nothing had ever amounted to this. No feelings ever could. He could neither hide or run or fight them. His memories were indeed his worst enemy and the thing that would most likely destroy all he had worked so hard to change and become.

Winston spoke quietly, his breaths messily forming exhausted words. His eyes were bleeding emotions as he stared up at the picture that hung above the control room doors. Smiling faces you'd never recognize were the team that sat at the table today. The picture was a time machine. One glance and Winston was back in his younger years with his life stretched before him, all the decisions that lay between his present self and his past self were unmapped, anything was possible. How impossible it seemed that all those day-to-day decisions would take him across these thirty years to where he now sat, broken and miserable. His words stopped as McCree smiled down on them but no voice could come from the nostalgic photo to bring comfort to the team of soldiers and fighters who needed his cocky laughter more than ever. Hanzo's breathing shook him as he noticed the only remnant of the lost man. A crisp wide brimmed hat sat in front of Athena's main computer. Its edges were charred and the golden relic in the center with the Overwatch symbol relaxed upon its engravings. Hanzo had loathed that despicable thing but now he couldn't help but long for it. He wanted to feel its coarse texture and imagine placing it upon its missing owner's head. His nostrils flared slightly as he imagined the smell of cheap cigars and whisky that stained the hat. His concentration was broken by a faint cry coming from a small figure whose eyes looked as if they had lost all innocence as the pilot described the ordeals of that day.

Hana's mech had failed her on a mission just a few weeks before McCree's passing and for the first time she was forced in to the reality that life was not really a video game. She had stumbled across the catwalk with indescribable pain flowing through her. Her heart squeezed as she fell over barely able to grip the small gun that guarded her. Her ribs had snapped like twigs and blood flooded through her eyes as her guts came tumbling out of her mouth. Hana laid in agony as her stomach felt like it was ripped open and all her 'stuff' began to pour out. She drooled red blood. She blinked waiting for the end but everything seemed to go soft. She described the entire ordeal with detail and described as the final thing she saw before she passed into the gentle oblivion was the smiling face of the scratchy man as he carried her to Mercy's care. Hanzo remembers this act. McCree had carried her all the way through a battlefield completely open to the entire team that wanted them dead using his body to block any weapons or bullets that could possibly hit the already critically wounded girl. When he actually arrived to Angela, he had refused all help until they got her stable. Hanzo remembers how the man had multiples wounds and let himself bleed on the sterile floor of Angela's medbay. He remembers chastising him for being so reckless and he remembers seeing the reflection of a black and white western film in his eyes as the cowboy ignored the condescending tone of the dragon yet again. He hated how reckless the man could be, often walking into things without a plan, without backup, and without even caring about his own self. Hanzo knew this was not at all true. 

The day off McCree's demise soon flowed into Hanzo's mind like water trickling into a stream. Hanzo had woken up like he was hooked up at the mains. No sleepiness, no slow warming up. Within seconds of realizing he was unconscious he is on his sparkling metallic feet, eyes wide, dreams not just forgotten but erased. He drank in the feedback of all his senses. Aside from his own noisy breathing there is rumbling snores coming from a rough throat underneath the tightly woven quilt. The sky is orange and red like a burning wildfire. It's beauty was incomparable to that of the man that slept completely still and hidden beneath the blanket. Hanzo stands and praises the sky for being magnificent and blessing him occasionally pausing to focus on the grainy snores of his cowboy companion. The snoring subsides and a gentle smile creeps upon the weary man as he watches the sunrise behind the silhouette of the dragon that stood before him. 

"Look at us hun, it's like we're an old married couple. Ya make the coffee yet?" McCree's voice speaks with his typical deep mocking tone. 

"I thought you disliked the hot dirt water?"

"It's a joke sweetum, maybe it's another southern thing."

"I shall add it to my list~~"

"Hun, d'ya really keep a dang note of these things? Ain't that the sill~"

"Do not interrupt if you do not wish to be interrupted yourself!" Hanzo's voice snaps and barks like a dog unsure of a person at the door. 

"Sorry darlin, think ya could turn the tunes on fo'me? Helps me get up."

"I see this ritual as ridiculous do all 'cow-folk' do this in the mornings?"

"Not'all of us but only the best kind. Now could y'a~" 

"As you wish." The words slip out of Hanzo's throat and McCree lets out a quiet chuckle at an attempt to hide the pleasure the simple line gave him. 

Music filled the room as Hanzo blushed. It seared through his cheeks and for a minute he thought his face was on fire. He had suddenly felt awkward, demure, and coy; even going as far as attempting to hide the rosy features behind a tainted frown only causing McCree to start laughing hysterically like a hyena calling to another. Hanzo shut off the music with a single swift motion. 

"Aw sug~"

"What was that?" 

"Ah, that song its ~ uh ~ well it's called," McCree's words slipped out of a teasing smile.  
"It's called Tequila makes her clothes fall off."

"It is horrendous garbage."

"Now I agree with ya there pard'ner but ~"

"No, no more. Hurry up and get ready, we still have a mission today."

The mission. 

Hanzo is pulled back to reality as a smooth cold metallic hand pushes down on his shoulder in a comforting safe way. He looks up in an attempt to see the grisly weathered-down face of the man he was so invested into. A metallic mask greets his eyes with a glowing green tint. The room was beginning to empty and he realized he was lost in the clouds with his thoughts once again as if his only anchor had broken off and sank to the bottom without him. His eyes were filled with devastation that Genji could see. He expected his brother to try and make him speak but even he could not and soon Genji followed the crowd that left the room. Hanzo's eyes welted and he stood walking slowly and hazily to the silky metallic doors. The sight of the shining metals burns his heart as if it were purposely reminding him of what a mess he was with its reflection. A blurred reflection of himself looked tentatively at the room noticing a medium box that rested upon the table where McCree would have sat. Wandering to the intriguing item, Hanzo fingered the smooth blue ribbon that looped itself into a decoration. His curiosity hides his grief for a moment as he opens the fuzzy box. A messily written note sits on top of golden stringed tissue paper. The note, folded down the middle, is soft in Hanzo's wide hands. He opens it and immediately is greeted by a welcoming voice within his own head. 

_'Curiosity killed the cat y'know?_  
Well Hanzo, I know what this means, if ya readin this. Truth is, I've been prepared to write this for so long but now that I am I have no clue what I am gonna say. I know I am a reckless man. I always have been. Words ain't easy to write' specially when you're unsure whether you can even read my mess of words. I ain't the most educated man y'know?  
Well Hanzo,  
I connected to a part of ya others never can feel and I saw a part of your soul ya never wanted to let out of the bag. I touched ya and saw your reaction, beautiful and raw. For those moments you were more real than the blood in my own veins. Hanzo, I grow tired of waitin to tell you how many times I've feared for ya in battle. I ain't as strong as I make myself to be but for my team, for my friends, for the only family I got I will gladly lay out my life and I know you think me foolish and I am sure you though' me crazy but well darlin'  
it's just how I live.  
I don't expect that you won't go back to how ya were before the team seein as it took you just so long to open up to me but hell do you're best to be there for them. I've seen my fair share of friends die. Boy does it hurt.  
Hurts like hell.  
We work hard for what we've got and I ain't ever gonna say I regret what I got cause it may end shitty but I will be pleased with havin you by my side. Y'know that cheesy stuff that's always said when you lose someone when ditto to that. I can't remember what it is for the life o'me right now but I assume ya know.  
Yer smart enough for the two of us,  
but when it comes to taken care of yerself mentally you're an ass.  
Blamin yerself for things beyond control  
You aint know shit when it comes to that  
So don't do it.  
I love ya Hanzo Shimada.  
I'm sure whatever happens to me I'll be back soon.  
Take care of Sherrie for me~~~  


A small stem with gentle white bell-shaped flowers is pressed beneath the note. He recognizes it as a lily-of-the-valley, a flower meaning "happiness will return". Hanzo's eyes darted across the paper absorbing every hardly-legible word. He rubbed his index finger in the crease down the center of the page a small sliver of a carefully placed grin darts across his face as he pulls the crinkling shiny paper from the box. An old serape, worn dorn and reeking of cigar smoke and whisky, sat idly in the box folded tenderly with care. _Sheerie_ , only a strange man would give names to articles of his clothing. Hanzo remembers asking why he named his clothes and what Sheerie was even for only to get the usual incredibly obnoxious flirting as a response instead. He admires the texture and warmth of the wearable blanket as he pulls it over his dark shadowy hair. He places the flower back in the box with the note on top and places the lid back on. Hanzo tucks it under his arm and looks at the brown hat that smiled at him. Turning off the lights as he leaves.

A gentle light flickers on as Athena's logo pops up. A small notification pops up with a quiet pipping sound. 


End file.
